


Eighteen, Balding, Star

by maps



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maps/pseuds/maps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larry au where Louis and his fellow seniors throw a small end of term party to kick off winter break, and maybe seven minutes in heaven isn't the best idea Stan has ever come up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eighteen, Balding, Star

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really edit this, and idk if I'll add on to it in the future...but I kind of like au winterbreak!larry I kind of like it a lot :))

“And you’re sure there won’t be any alcohol there?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Muuumm, we’ve been over this a million times. No, there won’t be any alcohol, and if there is by some miracle, I won’t partake.”

He was all dolled up, or so his mother had informed him when he walked downstairs in a tight pair of white trousers and a grey button down shirt. His black tom encased feet shifted anxiously as he glanced over his shoulder out the small window in the front door. The street lights looked strange through the glass, like some alien light show.

He was excited to go to Stan’s party (where the fucking six pack Stan owed him better be lying in wait, or so help him god), and just relax. School was out for winter break, all finals complete and homework papers handed in. He could finally breathe freely with the pressure of schoolwork off his shoulders because, no matter how horrid he did, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it now. He'd been officially on break for almost six hours, and he was planning on celebrating properly.

“Okay, Lou,” his mom said. She had this skeptical look in her eyes, standing at the end of the hallway. Her crossed arms screamed disbelief. But Louis knew she trusted him. She always had. “Just promise: no driving.”

Louis nodded. “No driving.” Then, feeling cheeky, he added, “Because I’ll be too tired, you know how Stan and I are. Stay up too late. It won’t be because I’ll be drunk or anything…” 

His blue eyes shifted to his mother at the last second, seeing her struggle to keep the smile off her face. “Just go, Lou. Have fun, love you.”

He turned and opened the door. Throwing it open, he grabbed his keys from a small table next to him and yelled a simple, “Love you too, mum!” over his shoulder before over the threshold. Somewhere behind him she waved a nonchalant hand, and wandered off back into the kitchen. He couldn't get to Stan's quick enough.

xx

The driveway was more cramped than usual, in the very least. Stan’s house was older, with only one story and an old basement. A fact that Louis had no problem with. Plus, the basement made for the perfect place to have their “get togethers.”

Louis parked alongside a beat up old Volkswagen Bug he was unfamiliar with, pocketing his keys as he stepped out of his car. The sound of their metal clinking awoke the darkness around him, as did the scuffing of his feet on the damp walkway up to Stan’s front door. It was misting, not raining or foggy, but either way it was cold. Louis could see his breath billow out in front of him like smoke, and his hands found themselves shoved in his pockets. His right hand curled around his keys, like it hoped to find some remaining warmth from his car's engine. 

With the front door unlocked, he helped himself inside as he had a thousand times before. He let his hand linger on the doorknob and glanced around as a smile broke across his face at the smell of the place. It just smelt good. Like late nights playing Madden and sneaking off to smoke weed in the backyard and talking about anything and everything (but mostly girls). The distant smell of cigarettes from the previous owners of the house was pleasant rather than overpowering, and it made the house feel cozy, well-lived-in. 

He knew the party would be in the basement, so naturally he almost ran to the stairs. With each step that brought him closer, the bass of music grew in volume. He could hear laughter and voices calling to each other, fighting to be heard over the sounds around them. After a quite rambunctious holler, Louis paused. Was that Stan? He bounded down the last few stairs excitedly hoping to find out.

Strolling into the room, with wood paneled walls and furry brown carpet, Louis smelt weed. The scent wove magically with the faint alcohol vapors and the stuffy air of breath and bodies. It furthered his nostalgic thoughts of rebellion with Stan, but Louis enjoyed thinking about those kinds of things. Like the time he and Stan hot boxed his car until they were swimming in smoke, or that night they spent up in Louis’ old tree house high as fuck and talking about the meaning of life. He searched the room for the source of the smell, and when his eyes landed on none other than Zayn Malik, he wasn’t surprised in the least. Figures, he thought with a shake of the head. Now where’s my fucking alcohol? 

As if on cue, Stan came hurdling into Louis’ side in a half hug, half tackle, forcing Louis to stumble sideways into empty space. He yelled his greeting in Lou’s ear, “LOUUUUU! You finally made it, mate!” His arms thick with alcohol, gripped around Louis’ middle, and Lou cringed at both the sudden attack and at the horrid scent of Stan’s breath. It was a mix of beer, vodka, and weed, oh such sweet perfume. Louis rolled his eyes at his best friend’s state of inebriation. It was only 9 o’clock which meant that he’d probably be puking up his small intestines by 11pm at the latest. Louis will be the one that will have to take care of him, again. He kind of made it his goal to get pissed before that time arrived.

“Heyyy Stan,” he said through a growing smile. “You’re fucking pissed already.” Louis was half amazed at Stan’s talent to trash himself. Hadn’t the text from him said, "Small party at my place! Friday @ 8pm!?"

“I’m not pissed, Lou. I’m just hav’n fun!” He giggled, as if trying not to give away the obvious and look as drunk as he was.

“Yeah. Whatever.” God I need to stop being so sassy, he thought before continuing. “You get the beer I wanted?”

Stan appeared bewildered for a few moments before a look of realization bloomed on his face. “Yeah! Yes!” He leaned in, gesturing for Lou to do the same, and whispered, “I hid it behind the couch. Don’t worry mate, no one's touched it.”

And his face was just so, so cute that Louis couldn’t help but smile and give a short, “Thanks, mate,” before leaving to go retrieve his beloved, mind-altering liquid of the gods from it’s hiding place. He turned to look back at Stan only to see that he’d gone, to yell at some 10ers for crashing his “Senior’s Only Party.” Louis just wanted the feel of a bottle in his hand and the slight tingle of bittersweet beer on his tongue before he had to deal with Stan starting something with a few younger lads. 

With half his drink gone when he reached Stan again, Louis was starting to relax even further. He noticed how, even if you weren’t that drunk, just being at parties seemed to chill people out. There was something about hanging out with your peers-your friends-that just seemed untouchable somehow. As if the air of lawbreaking that scented the air in smoke, alcohol, and laughter, brought the whole room together. Nothing could break them. They were in grade 12, the youngest they will ever be for the rest of their lives. And they were here, tonight, in this room, at this party, with these people to share this experience with. Louis quite liked parties. And beer.

“But-c’mon, Stan. We’re already here, jus-“

Stan was standing, chest puffed and fists clenched, blocking the way of two grade 10’s. One tall with dark curls, and the other shorter with a messy blonde hairdo (that Louis may or may not have eyed distastefully). He was surprised to feel a bit annoyed when Stan cut off what the taller boy had been saying. He just liked the way his lips moved around his words.

“No, just leave! Like, what the fuck, how did you even find out about this?” 

“Look,” started the other, blonde, boy, “We didn’t tell anyone else about it, okay? Just us. So can we just get passed this, and dr-“

“You didn’t answer my question!” Stan yelled, and they were starting to draw the rooms attention.

He had green eyes, the tall one. Louis liked the way they flitted between Stan’s. They had this searching look to them that had made Louis want to dive into them, never stop swimming. He hadn’t even looked mad, not really. Just annoyed, possibly leaning more towards reasonably agitated but not seething like Stan was. Louis admired that.

“Whatever, mate,” the blonde said turning to his friend. “C’mon Styles, let’s get outta here.”

They were half turned around before Stan held up a hand saying, “Wait. What?”

Both lifting confused yet hopeful eyes to the boy beside Louis, they stopped in their tracks. The one with the gorgeous curls even left a converse clad foot on the bottom stair of the staircase leading up to the main floor as if moving even an inch would ruin their chances.

“Styles?” Stan asked. The name wasn’t unfamiliar to Louis either, he realized. Nights spent staying up late discussing the many attractive attributes of one Gemma Styles weren’t far from his mind.

“Yeah? I’m Harry Styles..?”

The way he said it, it was almost like he was a bit confused. He felt it matched his skinny jeans, tight and black, and his old, dark grey long sleeved sweater hanging on his frame loose enough to expose bony collarbones. He had a way of holding himself that looked either insecure or just altogether indifferent. His toes pointed inward and hands slotted in his back pockets. Louis couldn’t help but stare.

Stan distracted him, thank god, hitting him on the arm with the back of his hand attempting to whisper, “Gemma Styles!” but failing terribly. Returning his gaze to Harry, Stan’s face lit up. “Harry Styles!”

“Yeah..?” Harry said. Louis watched as his eyebrows lifted just a tad with the word, as if reiterating it’s one syllable. “She’s my sister.”

“Really? Frankly, I can’t see the resemblance.”

Louis, deciding to jump into the conversation, said, “I can.” He sounded small, even to his own ears. What the fuck? Why did I just say that?!

Stan only gave him an odd look, not bothering to comment on the matter. But Louis felt Harry’s eyes burning holes in his skin and he couldn’t get away. His warm beer suddenly became delicious as he hid his face by taking a long drag.

“So what’s up with Gemma now-a-days?” Stan asked.

The blonde kid burst out laughing. The sight almost made Louis rethink his first judgement about the boy. Maybe his hair worked okay just as long as he smiled like that.

“One time,” he said, still laughing, “I woke up early to wee, at Harry’s house, and the shower was going, you see-“

“Oh, god. Not this story again,” Harry said, glancing at Louis again.” He basically tells it to anything with ears.” Louis’ stomach did a flip. He opted to taking a second significantly large gulp of beer from the bottle in hand, rather than give too much away by allowing Harry to meet his eyes. Louis always felt he talked too much with his eyes, and maybe if he communicated so easily through them then Harry might read his thoughts if he gazed too long. 

Stan slung an arm around around Niall’s shoulders, no doubt ready to drag him into the thick of things to tell whatever story about a shower that more than likely involved a naked Gemma Styles in a steamy bathroom. Harry rolled his eyes over a slowly growing smile, dimples finally showing themselves for the first time that night. Scared he’d say something completely foolish, like “I like your eyes,” or “Wow, could you never stop smiling? Thanks,” Louis merely smiled back while tipping back his beer (again). He even drank the foamy bubbles at the bottom, wanting nothing more than to get drunk (soon), and make out with some hot girl. Maybe Chloe or Hannah would be nice, he thought. Not Harry Styles though, yeah definitely not Harry. He was always such a terrible liar, even if just to himself.

He lowered his empty bottle, and, regretting it already, offered Harry a drink, “Would you care for a disgustingly warm beer, Harry?” He knew he didn’t have to use Harry’s name, seeing how they were the only ones standing beside the staircase, but he wanted to hear how it sounded on his own voice. He wanted to taste it on his tongue. It made him feel close to a complete stranger, and damn it if he could keep the smile off his lips.

“I’d love one, thanks um…?” Harry’s face was inquisitive as a long-fingered hand twirled in correlation to his question.

“Louis,” is all he said, but it’s all that needed or could be said because Stan chose that moment to start up a chant of, “Ni-all! Ni-all! Ni-all!” while a group of eight, Niall obviously among them, played Flipcup on the back table. 

Louis meandered back across the room wanting to get a better view of the drinking game, and, glancing to his right, saw Harry in his peripheral vision. He didn’t know why, but Harry’s presence behind him was pleasantly surprising. Louis guessed that Harry probably didn’t know anyone else at this party, apart from Niall, and now Stan and himself. He smiled once he turned forward again, feeling special that he was one of three people who Harry knew among a room full of strangers.

xx

Six beers and three shots later, Louis was very definitely pissed. The party had turned a bit weary, as if everyone were taking a few moments to rest, regain their strength. Someone had plugged their phone into the speaker system, and slow dubstep was pumping into Louis’ body and reverberating within his rib cage. He stood alone near the far wall, a fact he was perfectly fine with, as he took in his surroundings. Zayn had a shoulder resting on the wood paneled wall near the drink table and was chatting up a grungy looking girl with dark make up and white-blonde hair. Stan was standing, barely resting his backside on the back of the couch, swaying back and forth to the beat of the music with an arm around some brunette. And everything was just okay. Louis wasn’t even thinking about Harry Styles! 

“Hi.”

Louis turned, startled from his thoughts (that didn’t revolve around Harry of course), to his right seeing Harry himself and not just a conjured up image of him in his mind. He had one hand in his pocket, and the other rested on the doorknob of a closet while also holding a beer bottle with two fingers. Being drunk, Louis really couldn’t contain himself from allowing his eyes to glide up Harry’s arm to his chest, his neck, his jaw, and finally to his dimpled smile and crinkled green eyes.

The smaller boy smiled. “Hey, Haz-” and right after he said it, he regretted it. Haz? What the fuck kind of nick name is Haz? For a complete stranger? 

“Haz?” Harry asked, head tilted in question. He took a sip of his drink, waiting for an answer.

“Um.” Louis laughed nervously. “I don’t really know why I just said that.” He ran a small hand through his hair and looked up into Harry’s face. “Sorry?”

“I like it,” Harry said shrugging, as if that settled the matter. He pressed his back against the closet door and leaned his head back. His foot tapped to the beat.

Louis looked around the room, thinking, Yeah, me too. A lot actually.

He saw Stan look around at the slow moving people questioningly, holding different thoughts than Louis. If Louis knew him at all, he knew that Stan wanted to liven this bunch of drunk teenagers up. Stan was like that though, always looking for a good time no matter the circumstance. If someone was upset, it was Stan who tried the hardest to cheer them up, either by telling pointless jokes or offering to buy them alcohol. His tactics of cheer differed slightly from Louis’ own. Compared to Stan, he thought he held a less superficial way of brightening someone’s day. Making someone happy wasn’t all about laughter and boose. It was about genuinely caring and hoping it’ll all turn out in the end. Right now, though, Stan wasn’t about making anyone’s life better, he was about bringing energy back to a dead room. And that’s just the thing Stan was brilliant at doing.

“Truth or Dare anyone? Spin the Bottle? How about a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Stan called out to the room. 

A few people cheered, but most just sort of walked over the the couches and either plopped onto them or stood around near the rest. Harry stayed put when Louis moved to sit on the armrest of the nearest sofa. He tried not to show it, but he couldn’t help but feel oddly disappointed. He liked it when Harry followed him.

“Perhaps a mix of Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Harry asked from his place in front of the closet door. He arched his eyebrows at Louis, who hoped no one near him noticed the rise in his heartbeat.

“I like the way you think, Styles!” Stan yelled, settling in on a couch with the same dark haired girl.

The first to spin the bottle was Zayn, although he hadn’t volunteered willingly. Stan had made a fuss over no one wanting to “break the ice and spin first.” In the end, it had taken cheerful urges and not a small number of personal insults from Stan before Zayn finally gave in, smiling in that quiet way of his. He spun the glass loosely and gave Louis cause to think he cheated somehow because after only a few times around, the bottle landed on the blonde he’d been talking to earlier. She smiled cheekily, took his hand, and followed him in through the closet door Harry cordially held open for them.

After seven minutes, Harry banged on the door notifying them that their time had been used up. They exited with ruffled hair, which caused people to cheer, and sat where they had been previously sitting-away from each other. Louis was left wondering how Harry had become the referee of this weird game they were all playing and scared shitless that he really wouldn’t mind Harry calling all the shots from here on out.

Next to spin was a girl named Danielle. She got Liam, a kid from Louis science class he thinks, and the two flirted quietly on their way into the closet, whispering cute introductions. After Harry closed the door behind them, someone Louis had only seen a few times at school, Tom he thought his name was, rudely slurred, “That bloke’s such a virgin. Wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy if he had seven hours!” Louis rolled his eyes distastefully. He quite liked Liam, thank you very much, and could do without ridicule of his seemingly important virginity. Louis, deep in drunken thought, was astounded that seven minutes had already passed him by when Liam and Danielle walked past both Louis and Tom, hand in hand. Liam led Danielle to a spot on the couch and pulled her onto his lap where they cuddled one into another. Louis eyed Tom smugly, thinking, Liam must be doing something right.

Louis looked around the room. No one was saying much just drinking and clapping Liam and Zayn on the back on their “victories.” Louis took a sip of beer wondering what the hell one could conquer in seven minutes? He was about to volunteer, mildly hoping the bottle to land somewhere between choosing a girl named Eleanor or no one at all so he could skip his turn. Or maybe he only imagined picking Harry. He was drunk, he couldn’t quite tell.

“I’ll go.”

It was Harry who spoke. Involuntarily, Louis smiled his brightest at a boy who returned it with dimples and darkly tinted eyes. It was in that moment Louis knew he wanted to be the person that bottle landed on, and that fucking scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t so much the fact that Harry was a boy that terrified him, it was more the fact of just how much he wanted a complete stranger. It was as if he were being drawn into Harry’s eyes and smile and curls and long limbs and cock- No, he was not drunk enough for this. 

Harry strolled slowly to the short coffee table, with bowed legs and toes pointing inward, to set his drink on the edge. It was so close to falling to the floor that Louis wanted to stop it from tipping over, made him care if it crashed to the ground. He sat and admired Harry’s shoulder blades rolling under his sweater. It’s dark grey color somehow showing off every dip in his vertebrae, the slants of his rib cage.

When he spun the bottle, Harry stood up straight and took a few steps back to stand near where Louis was located. Louis kept his eyes glued to the rotating beer bottle trying not to comprehend the thoughts running wild within him. If he chose to decipher them, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore. He’d know them. So Louis didn’t try to figure anything out, why would he? He was eighteen, he was drunk, and he was hopeful for something intangible. 

The bottle was slowing. Louis thought he could almost hear the whoosh of it as it pivoted, but that was probably just his heartbeat. Every time it passed him, Louis tensed. When it left, he cursed himself for being so obvious. When it returned he tensed again, despite himself.

The room grew quiet with the bottle’s last few dragging rounds. The music in between tracks, the many teenagers too focused on who was going to have to snog this grade 10 kid. Louis closed his eyes for a second. Perhaps it was to gain his bearings because the bottle did look like it was about to stop on him, but maybe it was because he could hear everyone breathe. In the silence from the speakers, he could feel the air move about them, around them, as they all sucked air into their lungs. Yet, he held his breath.

He opened his eyes when every mouth erupted in Ohhh!’s and Ohh shit!’s and Louis, you have to do it! You have to do it!’s. So it had landed on him. Yippie. Whoo. Yay.

He looked over at Harry while some American band began playing, guitar and drum joining in a soothing rhythm. And it suddenly dawned on him, this was Harry’s phone plugged into the speakers. He didn’t know how he knew, but he just fucking knew it was Harry’s. As if to test what his theory, he asked:

“Who is this?” He tilted his head toward the source of the sound.

Harry smiled out of the side of his mouth. “Trani. Kings of Leon.”

Louis nodded, though he didn’t really have a clue who the Kings of Leon were. “Ohh, yeah. Right.”

He didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands. Should he stand and laugh it off, deny all possibility of kissing Harry tonight? Or should he play along, and hope no one would notice how eager he really was to touch him? The other males in the room had their faces scrunched up in distaste and a look of pity in their eyes. He tried to copy their expressions, tried to paint it over his own.

Harry, though, Harry was so interesting! He downed what remained of his beer, set it on the table, then walked to hold the closet door open like a true gentleman. Louis rolled his eyes. His stomach was turning and his feet were uneasy when he finally stood. His own beer bottle made an uncomfortably loud noise when it made contact with the wooden table. He'd underestimated the distance between the two, like Harry hadn't done at all tonight. Why did he always know what he was doing?

He was scared. Scared to walk into the dark closet with Harry, a stranger. Scared to be trapped in there for seven minutes. Scared of what everyone will think if he does it. Scared of what they’ll think if he doesn’t. Scared of Harry’s larger frame, and his capacity to force Louis if he didn’t want it. But mostly, Louis was scared that he wanted Harry to take him, mold him into something more beautiful. Touch him and melt him down with the sweet taste of lips and friction. More than anything, he was terrified he’d love every second. Terrified he’d be left only wanting more.

Before walking completely into the tiny, tiny room, Louis glanced up into the eyes of Harry Styles. He found they were strong, as if they were looking at exactly what they wanted. Butterflies fluttering in his tummy, Louis walked into darkness. He felt Harry fall in step behind him and close the door. The closet was muted, if not by sound then by the way the dark engulfed them. It was almost suffocating. Louis still hadn’t turned to face Harry. He carded a hand through his hair as he heard a muffled voice say, “Change the song, man. It sounds too sexy or some shit.”

Harry pressed up against Louis’ back with the start of the new song, making Louis freeze up. He ground his hips down against Louis’ ass, leaning forward to whisper the lyrics of undoubtedly another Kings of Leon song against the sensitive skin just under his ear.

“I’ll be the one to show you the way,  
You’ll be the one to always complain.  
Three in the morning come a bang bang bang.  
All out of fags and I just can’t wait.”

Even if he was just breathing out the words, Louis knew Harry could sing. With the way his voice melded with the melody, flowed to the beat, Louis could imagine what it’d sound like. Deep and raspy, like his voice, and it’d be the cause of wet panties and hard-ons all across the globe if Harry were famous, a star.

“Cancel the thing that I said I’d do,  
I don’t feel comfortable talkin’ to you.  
Unless you got the zipper fixed on my shoe,  
Then I’ll be in the lobby drinkin’ for two.”

Harry let his hands wander over Louis’ body. One gripping his hip, pressing their bodies ever closer, the other sliding up under Louis’ button up shirt. The sudden feel of skin on skin resulted in a small hiss from Louis, and he pressed back into the feel of Harry against him. Why wasn’t this sixty minutes in heaven instead of only seven?

Louis turned his head slightly to the left to bring their faces closer. He wanted to see those eyes again. He wanted to taste those lips. And he almost did as Harry sang the next lyrics, their lips brushing each others with his whispered song.

“Eighteen, balding, star.  
Golden, fallen, heart.”

Louis turned, his back now pressed flat against the wall behind him, and looked up into where he thought Harry’s eyes would be in the dark. He could just make out the reflective gleam of them from the strip of light under the door. The two stayed like that, just Louis staring up at Harry, before he grasped Louis’ face with both hands, shoulders scrunched up, and smashed their lips together. Louis loved the way Harry pressed him against the wall, pinning him there. Their tongues explored each others mouths trying to taste every inch.

He knew their time would be up soon, but all Louis bothered to think about was how Harry knew just where to position his knee so that in the midst of their rolling hips and grasping hands on shirts and skin, Louis’ right leg was lifted slightly up Harry’s thigh. He briefly wondered if he should be embarrassed that he was already getting hard. He dismissed the notion at once, finding solace in the fact that the only action he’d gotten in five months was from his right hand. Harry lightly nipped at his neck then, and he had to fight down a moan from escaping, traveling on hot breath.

Harry chuckled darkly, and bringing his devilish lips up to Louis’ ear he softly said, “Pipe down, bad boy, wouldn’t want them-” he jerked his head back toward the door while his hand ventured down, “-to find out just how much we’re enjoying ourselves, now would we?” 

Even as he finished his sentence, he gently squeezed Louis’ growing erection through his trousers making the smaller of the two sigh with the touch and thrust into the feel of his hot hand. 

To Louis disappointment Harry lowered his hand from his groin, backing away completely. Not an inch of their bodies touched. That seemed to be a problem for. Yes, that was a definite problem. Louis reached forward to close the distance between their lips once more, already forgetting the taste. In his drunken delirium he hadn’t thought to process what Harry had meant. He didn’t take the time to remember that yes, they were at a party right now, and yes, five minutes of their allotted seven had passed in a flurry of lips and whispered song lyrics, and yes, all of his friends would probably see his hard-on the moment they opened the door if he didn’t try to calm his heart.

Harry, instead of pushing him away, took hold of Louis’ hands as they reached for his face. Harry’s hand dwarfed his own, and it made Louis feel, in some dumb, classic Hollywood-esque way, safe. He leaned into Harry’s welcoming chest and it somehow fit perfectly around him. His arms found their way around Harry’s skinny waist and he loosely held him. Maybe listening to Harry’s heartbeat slowed his own.

The smell of Harry’s deodorant wafted to his nose after Harry’d wrapped his long arms around Louis’ shoulders. Louis didn’t know if he should be ashamed that it was probably one of the best smells he could imagine. It made him feel close to Harry, the smell of his sweat lingering under the strong scent of Old Spice was comforting. It was far more peaceful than the fruity cleanliness girls always held about them. He nodded to himself, barely, realizing that’s what had drawn him to Harry from the moment he saw him, that he had found peace in his ruggedness, his rough edges and broad shoulders, in the stubble on his jaw and the way his jeans were tight around his bulge. That he wasn't an easy book to read, he was the movie you watch over and over again and still realize something new. Yeah, Louis thought, nuzzling closer. I like that.

“You know they’re going to knock on the door any moment now,” Harry said. His chin was resting on top of Louis’ head. The pressure was welcoming.

“I know,” Louis sighed as if accepting some terrible fate. He really did want to continue this some time.

They pulled way, equally this time. Louis fixed his hair the best he could, but he didn’t have a mirror so he knew it’d still look like hell. He straightened his shirt (he had to re-button a few clasps that had been handled a bit too roughly), and wiped the excess saliva from his lips and throat, evidence of their embrace. He had a moment of panic, recalling the way Harry had bit his neck, when his hand rubbed over a pit of tender skin while smoothing his collar. His mind shifted to images of angry love bites obvious for everyone to see.

Louis’ brow was furrowed when he looked back up at Harry only to find that Harry was already watching him. He’d fixed his hair too, Louis saw through the dark, and his lips moved silently to the lyrics still playing through the speakers out in the main room. The second their eyes met, Harry started to sing aloud, rather than mouth, the words. 

“I’mma gonna show the way.”

And his eyes never wavered. 

“I’mma gonna show the way.”

And Louis didn’t ever want them to.

“I’mma gonna show the way.”

Harry reached for Louis’ face, tilting it up for their lips to meet gently in one last kiss. 

The knock shocked them apart, and the brightness behind the opening door was blinding.

xx

“Hey man, I gotta wee,” Louis said to Stan after waking up, hungover and sore, the next morning. A disengaged grunt was Stan’s only reply. Louis rolled his eyes, which resulted in a bad case of The Spins, and headed for the stairs in search of the bathroom and a tall glass of water. 

He’d fallen asleep on the basement couch after almost everyone had left. Most of the alcohol had been drunk not long after Louis’ turn for Seven Minutes in Heaven, and no one had wanted to stay for the clean up that was in store. Louis heaved a sigh of dread at the thought of having to help with this hell whole. Tripping over an empty beer can as he reached the top of the stairs only increased his dismay.

The bathroom was just off the main hallway between Stan’s bedroom and the foyer. Louis could walk anywhere in that house blindfolded or asleep and he’d still know his way around. He figured being severely hungover was no different.

His last few steps before reaching the loo were spent almost prancing from foot to foot at the urgency of his need to relieve himself. He feared he’d pee his pants in the ridiculous amount of time it took him to unzip his fly that was for some reason refusing to go down. When he finally got it he sighed in sweet relief, letting his head roll back. He figured peeing was one of the best feelings someone could experience. Sex, scratching an itch, and lying down in a comfortable bed when you’re completely exhausted. Yeah, peeing was up there.

He was tucking himself back in his now more comfortably tight trousers when he heard a clang and an, “Oh shit!” Louis wondered who the hell was still here, rounding the corner of the bathroom door frame, and fixing his sleep-ruffled shirt as he strolled into the entryway. Niall stood breathing frantically and holding a large ceramic vase down against the mahogany door-side table as if it’d sprout legs and scuttle away if he gave it the chance.

Louis huffed a small laugh. “Nialler,” a nick name someone had given the young man the night before, “are you planning on stealing from Stanny’s dear old mum?”

Niall spun around so fast you’d think someone’d shot him. Blue eyes and mouth round in shock to a comical degree, had Louis cackling. Although, he regretted it the moment he started to feel nauseous from laughing.

Niall was a good sport, though, and laughed along with him. “Sorry mate. I knocked the vase over and was thanking the fucking heavens it hadn’t broke. Then you showed up.”

Louis quite liked the way he said that. He let his shoulder fall against the hallway wall. Then you showed up, as if that was a story within itself. He smiled, thinking that maybe he was a story in himself sometimes. Then again, with his imagination, he was probably worth a million stories.

He opened his mouth to reply and ultimately get around to asking where Harry was, but was cut off before he could start by Harry Styles himself as he burst from the basement stairs, eyes fixed on what looked like car keys in his hands.

“Found ‘em, Nye! They were in the closet, of all places. Speaking of which, I never got that guys’ num-” He looked up at Niall before they flashed over to Louis. Louis just smiled at Harry while he resumed a more cool and collected manner. “Number.”

“So you guys did snog! See, Harry, I knew it! Why didn’t you just tell me last night?” Niall asked, absolutely beaming.

Harry’s eyes glanced up and down Louis’ frame as he replied, “Because you were drunk and would have told every person who was there.” He looked back at Niall. “Right?”

Niall ignored him. “Whatever. I’ll be in the car.” He’d smiled like he was in on some secret the other two didn’t know about and slipped through the front door.

Standing on opposite sides of the room, with the winter sun shining between them, it couldn’t have been less like their encounter in the closet. Their seven minutes in heaven (and Louis definitely thought it was some kind of heaven, or maybe that was just Harry,) had been dark and full of hot whispered breaths and grasping hands. Now, with bright light and the expanse of a room that stretched like miles between them, it was strange and awkward to say the least. Louis felt small, leaning against the cold wall, and wanted a hot mug of tea to warm his insides and possibly help rid him of his outrageous hangover. Or maybe it was the snug blanket alcohol wrapped around him that he yearned for, because then he wouldn’t feel so useless. He’d always found that under a drunken haze he could be whoever he wanted for a night. Change, be free to live out countless scenarios all because of a few sips of some foul tasting liquid. And for God’s sake, it’d at least help him do something other than stand there trying desperately to find something to say to this odd, lanky boy standing in front of him.

“So…,” he said, failing horrendously at being linguistically clever.

“So.” Harry said. Hands shoved deep in his pockets and Ray Bans hanging loosely from the collar of his baggy sweater. 

Louis didn’t like this kid. He didn’t like how his shoulders were so confident or how those eyes made him feel like he’d done something wrong. And maybe he had, maybe kissing a boy wasn’t the right thing to do, but it wasn’t until he kissed Harry that he realized he’d never wanted something more. Or at least something like Harry. Someone to touch and feel and caress, share anatomy. If that was “wrong” then perhaps he ought to do some reevaluating.

Hoonnnnnkkkk.

Harry laughed, dimples breaking the “bad boy” attitude around him and airy breath cascading it’s broken pieces to the floor. They lied there around Harry’s feet and matched his dirty and used converse, ripped and pulling apart at the seams.

“Niall,” Harry stated the obvious.

“Niall.” Louis repeated, dipping his head in understanding. 

“Walk me out?” Harry looked up from the ground he’d been smiling at.

Knowing he was just being charming, that he was only trying to get a reaction out of him, Louis nodded in answer.

The door was heavy, when he opened it, heavier than usual. It might have been his party-sore muscles or maybe it was his nerves getting the best of him. He hoped the shaking of his knees weren’t noticeable as he held the oak door open for Harry to pass.

It was cold, despite the clear blue sky and sunshine. Frost littered the ground with blues and whites in patches of shade, and Louis could see Niall rubbing his hands together in Harry’s car, the Volkswagen Bug, trying to warm his fingers with meager friction.

Harry kept walking forward and down the front steps, breath coming in puffs of white. He put his sunglasses on as he turned back to Louis, who had his hip resting on the door still within his grasp. He was watching the way Harry’s breath looked as it floated on the frozen air, and he vaguely wondered if Harry smoked cigarettes.

Walking backwards, Harry called, “I’ll call you, yeah?”

And Louis smiled despite himself, not bothering to care that he probably wouldn’t call, or that he’d somehow forget about the frightened little closeted boy who he kissed for all of seven minutes. He’ll hope though, and wait by the phone for a deep, raspy voice after the ring. He was fully prepared to take on the responsibility that maybe Harry wasn’t good for him.

“I’d like that.”

He thought, as the curly haired stranger walked away, that if he smoked, he probably smoked a pack a day. Because that’s how starts are, right? Encased by a cloud of smoke? It’d match his protruding collarbones, grimy jeans, and the way words fell from his lips like his foggy breath as billowed out from his lungs in the haze of a golden sun. A smokey silhouette.


End file.
